


Just a word

by fundamentalnsfw (fundamentalBlue)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Non-Consensual, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 13:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15887289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fundamentalBlue/pseuds/fundamentalnsfw
Summary: I made a smut thing for Tomione smut fest, and it's Quidditch if you squint and turn it sideways. I kept it at 5k words, which is all I can say about its quality.





	Just a word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weestarmeggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/gifts).



When Tom Riddle, Slytherin Seeker extraordinaire, raked Gryffindor’s Seeker out of the way to grab the snitch and with it, victory, Hermione’s mood plummeted. The two had gone high enough up that the clouds interfered with normal omnioculars. Harry had ordered her a special pair, designed to follow his movements specifically on the field. They could see through clouds, at any height, so long as they were linked to a specific person.

That’s how she knew the Slytherin had kicked Harry intentionally in order to get the snitch.

She’d even replayed the infuriatingly calm smile on his face as he did it.

Tom was utterly beguiling that way, always getting away with petty acts played off as accidents. Being as handsome as he was did not make him _good._

And she didn’t feel happy he had won, but she did feel something. Something that she really ought not to.

Harry and her had so often discussed Tom, and been united in their dislike, their twinned beliefs about the malignancy of his person so inlaid into their friendship that she couldn’t possibly mention the stirrings she felt around the Slytherin boy to her best friend. Especially since, at times, she wondered if Harry’s hatred of Tom ran as deep as hers for the same reasons.

No one that beautiful, and capable, should be so cruel.  

Harry sat in the air, almost prone on his broom, while students dressed in green were erupting with cheers and chanting the usual drivel to insult other houses. All around her, Gryffindors were groaning and walking down the long set of stairs that led to the ground. The loser’s march.  
  
Hermione stayed.

For Harry. Just to make sure.

He hovered above the pitch for a time, beginning to fly loosely in circles as Hermione waited, her heart going out to him. Tom would almost always best Harry in Quidditch, as Tom would crush her in academics, all the while carrying this mask of graciousness. The condescension of him that no one else but Harry and her seemed to see through made her temper boil over. Even Ron had said ‘ _he isn’t bad, for a Slytherin bloke!’_  
  
Not bad, indeed, she huffed to herself. As if anyone besides Harry and herself could see past skin porcelain enough to hide the darkness that looked out the windows of his murky blue eyes.

And those eyes, they were bleak.  
  
As she continued to focus on Harry, Tom floated up to her friend, a crooked smile on his face, as if he were at all modest about his ill-gotten win. The empathy she felt as Harry’s expression turned from numbly lost to instant suspicion had her hyper focused on their interaction.  
  
She couldn’t make out either of their words, but she didn’t need to. Harry broke away from the conversation and zipped down to the field, his face a study in thwarted fury. She sighed and began trudging down the stairway, lost in thought as to how best to comfort her friend and ignore the confusing pull that she knew was the physical attractiveness stereotype; Tom had no good qualities besides the packaging he came in.

Hermione would not be taken in by the walking contradiction, the lies his appearance concealed, not consciously. Even if sometimes she had dreams of a Tom that looked at her and saw more than just a know-it-all with dirty blood.

She tried very hard in these moments, to box up the hypocrisy of her own fantasies and keep them away from her day to day.  

The path back to Hogwarts was devoid of even lingering students, and the lack of company left Hermione tapping into a vicious cycle of thought regarding Tom.

Every potion, every question he answered more thoroughly than her, each time he deliberately plucked a book from the shelves she had been reaching for, one that had been referenced in their textbooks for further reading, all apologies and magnanimous promises to bring it to her when he was finished. Really, the list was endless, and she felt slight guilt that even though he bothered her every day, today was about Harry’s loss. And Harry, well, he had perfectly good reasons for disliking Tom too.

“Granger.” The object of her dislike was easy to miss as she passed by, and she froze, her eyes wide as she slowly turned back to face him. He’d been standing there leaning up against the locker rooms, for however long. Oh Merlin, he’d seen the look on her face. But he couldn’t possibly know-

“Tom.” Saying his name grated. Seeing his sweat-flattened hair pasted to his forehead and clad in the padded and bulky Quidditch uniform, she reminded herself of all the ways he was also like any other boy. He wasn’t special, or even the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Maybe for the wizarding world he was, but that was the purebloods' own fault for interbreeding so heavily.  
  
Yet, he was magnetic.

A great deal of her disgust with him was how easily she too was drawn into orbit with a single glance.

“A word?” She watched his mouth as he spoke, his lips barely puckering.

“Now?” It sounded dumb, plaintive, when it came out. As if he had ever asked her for anything.  
  
He rolled off the wall towards and into the entrance to the locker room, his leathers scraping the stone.  
  
She was left staring at the empty space he had occupied, breathing heavier than she ought to. Shuffling, she couldn’t make herself turn back towards Hogwarts. Not- not without- well, she didn’t know what.

“I dislike having to repeat myself.” He leaned back out of the doorway, a languid smile pasted on that she could easily translate as _do as I say_ since he used it all the time on his _fake_ friends. They would tremor and shuffle about like house elves when he spoke. She would watch, revolted that no one else but Harry could see it.

She saw it, and him.

How he loved the subservience, created circumstances in which others would give it to him, and fostered the dependency of his peers. Always, behind that smile, a malicious creature had to lurk, and not nearly enough humanity to compensate.

“Perhaps better planning in the future would negate the need to do so. I’m busy, Tom, and I’m not one of your little boys that you can call on.” She snapped out before she could catch herself. It was one thing to imagine about how dangerous Tom Riddle was when crossed, and it was quite another to remember it in the moment. As if the Tom she and Harry would complain about was a separate entity from this one.

Which he wasn’t, and her clothing felt tight with heat as his expression didn’t change, but something inside his eyes shifted into place.

“I assure you,” he stepped out from the entrance, the very aura of his presence casting a shadow over her, “my plans are exactly as I wish them to be. And you are not _busy_.”

How his hand had ended up draping softly on the back of her neck, intimate in its placement, his head not quite a foot above hers, but enough, enough to look down at her, she didn’t know. She expected heat to come off of him, and instead she felt cold. A rigidity of fear and _don’t_.

“Please,” was all she managed before he gently pinched his fingers around the stiff muscles of her neck and guided her towards the door. Would it be irrational to throw her arms out and stop him from taking her in there? Was it really as bad as it felt?

He just wanted a word. A chat.  
  
Her mind scrambled to find a semblance of a reason. Potions. Yes, maybe he wanted to ask about potions, or for some notes- in case, well in case maybe he was missing class and she was the second best, though it made her miserable to admit, so perhaps-

“Stop.” Blinking, she realized she was standing in the empty locker room, much better appointed than the Gryffindor ones if Harry’s word was to be trusted. She’d walked in. Just, walked right in here-

“Always thinking, never paying _attention_.” From behind her she felt the sharp push of his leg between hers, sliding her thighs apart with a foresight and precision that heretofore only existed in her head.

Her perfect, orchestrated fantasies that _didn’t include Tom Riddle_.  
  
“Please-” His hand was still cool on her neck, and it felt as though a string from the base of her groin was pulled taut, up, up and up through to his fingers. He had her anchored, the hard padding of his uniform pushing her skirt precariously tight in the front, forcing her to trust he wouldn’t let go of her neck. _Why_ , she wanted to say.

“You’ve already said that. If you want it to have an effect, you will have to be suitably more humble.” Abruptly he pushed her forward, and she caught herself on the wall in front of her, sliding away from him as she turned. He stalked forward, letting his leisurely pace drive her back further into the bowels of the changing area.  
  
He’d never so much as displayed a singular sign of affection or interest in any other girl in Hogwarts. He was also a _monster_ underneath all that charm. Always beatifically smiling when Harry was hit with stray hexes in DADA, or his lips curving with a smirk meant to look indifferent when she was tripped in the halls by one of the Slytherin goons.

But he was also a boy, and the tension in the air had a decidedly sexual bent, and it jump started her defenses.

When her hands smacked the metal of a locker, she turned instinctively then to run. Why her terror hadn’t caught up with her sooner, she didn’t know, but she would listen now. Her hand gripped her wand-

She didn’t hear a sound come out of him.

Her entire body seized mid-stride, and her wand slipped from her clammy fingers, without so much as a word of protest from her. She had been focused on the ground, and on covering it as quickly as possible, but having ceased moving, her eyes met Tom’s in the mirror that spanned part of the wall in front of her.

And the way he looked at her, drinking her terror in like sweet sustenance, she wanted to be as invisible as she’d always felt around him. Wanted it more desperately than all her previous daydreams to the contrary.

Her only protest was a sorry squeak, the keening whine of prey caught in a trap.

He stood behind her, _her_ wand tapping idly onto the palm of his free hand, as if he needed mindless gestures to think about what he was going to do. All the times she’d ranted to Harry that Tom was positively _evil_ , and she hadn’t even thought about what evil meant.

Only a morally depraved person would ask for a conversation and then stun that person when they didn’t cooperate. To have the audacity to do it in what amounted to a public space was a kind of awful that shouldn't exist at school. They were students, this was Hogwarts, and how could this happen?

“What ever shall I do with you and Harry Potter, hmm?” Her throat worked to answer, her eyes following his as he watched, his attention rapt on her struggle. It was wrong, how much she could see of the real Tom in that moment. A little boy pulling off the wings of a fly because he could.

“People are starting to talk, you know.” He said casually as he came closer.

“At first it was amusing, your misplaced hatred of me. Easily explained by my academic and athletic superiority. Jealousy is such an obvious thing.”

 _Breathe._ She was choking now. A gurgling sound pushing out of her throat. Her magic slammed against his, battering the hold he had on her, while he looked as though nothing was amiss.  
  
“You see there are the things people generally suspect about me, that I’m dangerous to antagonize. And image I like to maintain, to a point.” The closer he came, and he was so very close, the more she saw the semblance of a human painted on his face. It was deliberately sloppy, his eyes too wild and dilated and his mouth twisted to bare his teeth like a hungry dog.  
  
He was behind her now, and she couldn’t bear to look into his eyes, clenching them shut.

Stupid. She’d been so stupid.

Thinking that knowledge was in any way tantamount to experiencing his malicious attentions. Imagining all the times that he’d likely done this same thing to others, and yet, _not her. Never her._ Her nightmares couldn’t be real. It wasn’t allowed.

“Look me in the eye when I’m speaking to you.” His hand fisted in her hair suddenly, wrenching her head tight to his hand. While her body didn’t move an iota, the command turned her compliant, malleable. Her watery eyes met his again in their reflection.

“Good girl.” And then he released the tension from her hair, and stroked her, like a pet. Like a doll.

All of his previous fury looked as though it was gone, buried or dissipated with her obedience. She wanted to say she knew better, but the relief from his harsh attention was palpable enough that she couldn’t help but emotionally slouch into the magical bonds.  
  
“Not to worry, I’ll tell you exactly what the problem is Hermione _,_ the purpose of this little discussion we’re having.” With a flick of her wand, his Quidditch pads smoothly detached from his frame, the smell of his sweat cleaner than Ron or Harry’s.

She could hardly believe her wand obeyed him.

“People are starting to talk,” he repeated. “And at first it was only about how ridiculous your hatred is of me. How unreasonable. How… baseless. But over time, people have begun to believe that maybe, maybe whatever purpose you both have for despising me could be true. Well, maybe not true, but I must have done something to you, yes? To earn such enmity. Would that I had, Hermione.” He was bare chested now, clad only in the tightly fitting uniform-specific pants. As he spoke, she kept her eyes steadily locked with his, dread filling her every limb.

She couldn’t stop seeing him twist his all too lovely features into an arrogantly victimized expression that signaled how _heartbroken_ her hate made him. That she was destroying his precious reputation _for no reason_.

She’d been crying silently for some time now, drool and tears converging under her chin. He was insane, she knew. Someone was going to find them. She would tell Harry- the professors. There was no way he could be confident that this would stay between them alone. Hermione wasn’t a Slytherin, a person who adhered to a rigorous pecking order and showing her belly if Tom so much as asked for it.  
  
“So my precious Gryffindor princess, I’ve decided that whatever loathing you have for me, I intend to reap it.” When he used his wand to strip his pants and underthings away, leaving him bare, his body perfectly muscled like armor, like a shield, her magic pushed recklessly on his in an attempt to surface above the cloyingly thick blanket of his own power.

He laughed.

A perfect, masculine sound. She watched his semi-erect cock twitch upward as he did so, Tom unashamed of his own biology. He moved closer to her, covering his nudity in the mirror with her stunned form. She’d already seen his polished obliques, the generous curve of his pectoral muscle dipping over to attach onto arms that rippled as he moved. The smooth plane of his stomach going down, down into an Adonis’ belt. A Seeker’s body. 

“The lady doth protest too much!” He yanked himself against her from behind, moving to rest his chin on her shoulder, as dear as any lover. Her magic jolted in erratic spurts, frenetic at the sensation of being held fast by Tom’s own. When his hands began to rove the fabric on the front of her robe, no clear destination to their movements, her body tensed tighter, tighter even, than the bonds he had her wrapped in.

“And it’s a good thing you’re silenced, because hearing you lie about what you really want would try my patience.” When he ground his pelvis into her ass, she gasped, which sounded more like a croak. It was unbelievable, even if he’d never called her a mudblood, that she knew his beliefs and yet he was pushed up against her like none of those things stood between them.

“You’ve discovered meritocracy is a lie, as did I, Hermione, only much sooner than you. The crux of all this is that I succeeded in entering this world, and you, you’re still on the outside, looking in, feeling different, feeling other.” Her robes were wrenched from her body blisteringly quick, Tom’s magic suffocating her own as it pulled her arms up, forcing her torso straight, bra-covered chest heaving.  
  
“You want what I have. You want me, the fiend you think I am, and well- let’s be rational Hermione, I am the monster you and Harry both dream of. How that must burn you up inside to be so _conflicted_.” He stepped back and suddenly she was able to speak. She watched her chest inflate with air as she prepared to scream, her eyes locked with his.

He looked hungry.

Pleased with what he saw.

She stuttered, gulping the air out she’d taken in. Shifting on her legs, she remained as compliant as she could, hoping it would give him no reason to attack. Would make him let her go, and see she was no threat.

“I’ll do whatever you want, please, let me go. I’ll- I’ll take a vow to not compete with you academically, anything, please-” hearing her own voice whimper out those promises made her feel even more defeated. Her head drooped down as she spoke, saliva dripping from her lips and punctuating some of her words.

When she peeked at him underneath her mane of hair, he had his hand fisted on his cock, now fully erect as he was slowly pumping it, his thumb flicking his head to draw slick precum down the shaft.  
  
It was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen. And Hermione was revolted with herself for the warmth that trespassed low in her gut.

“My proposition Hermione: I’ll make you mine. Harry will fall in line when he sees his one ally wrapped up so thoroughly in me that either I am just- that- evil- or possibly I never was at all. Do you understand, Hermione?” His offer was so sweeping and unexpected that she twitched in her bonds, and followed how he sucked in a breath and let out a small groan while still jacking himself at the sight of her almost nude form. She never anticipated, never thought for a moment that he held any sort of wanton feelings towards her as she did him.

“You’re forgetting that I have to accept, and I _despise you!_ ” She shouted.

“How like you to bite the hand that feeds. I’ll show you you’re wrong, darling. I’ll give you the gift of acceptance. No one would dare snub you if you belonged to me. You would have friends, career opportunities, everything you could want. Is it so little to ask that you be shagging Slytherin’s Seeker to achieve those things? You make it so plain with your distaste that some part of you wants me. So why not one time then? I’ll make it easy, say yes this one time Hermione, and I’ll let you go.”

Oh he was foul. To make her complicit in this. Using psychological warfare to first ask for the untenable and then offer a simpler solution of  ‘once’.

She glared bitterly at him, and it only made him sigh as if put upon.

His magic, where before it had been a unhurried, slippery darkness, switched abruptly to radiating cold dominance and malice.

“I thought you were ready to accept this part of yourself Hermione, to grow as a witch. My mistake. I’ll let your delusion persist a bit longer and give you this ultimatum instead: you will get down on your knees and beg for me to fuck you or Harry will suffer the consequences.”

He wouldn’t- he, but oh he bloody would. He knew for Harry, she would do just about anything. She stifled the sensation that she was _lying_ to herself, like he had accused. She would never, could never, want him to fulfill his promises to her. She didn’t _need_ anyone else to make her worth something.

She didn’t. She didn’t need Tom’s validation at all.

“Oh- ok.”

He said nothing, but she felt the bonds release. Tom settled back onto a bench where all his Quidditch pads and uniform lay, his legs spread, displaying for no reason at all that she could discern, that he wanted her. Her eyes alighted to his cock, the tip swollen and red, the veined length of him meeting his balls which were tight to his body. Even his groin was well groomed, like the rest of him.  
  
“You wouldn’t do anything foolish like going back on your promise, or attempt to run, so let’s get to it Hermione.” He interrupted her and she glanced at him nervously, before gathering herself.

It was a game, a role to play. Slytherins loved games. All she had to do was this one thing. One time. And Harry was free.

She would be free.

 _Never,_ a subconscious voice whispered inside her head.

Choosing to not hear it, she slowly dropped to her hands and knees, her eyes never leaving his. Tom had his cock in hand again, gazing at the lewd sight of her before him, crawling towards him.  
  
She didn’t know what to say. What he wanted to hear.

“Tom, please may I fuck you? Let me- let me please you. I promise I’ll be good. I promise-” Tom cut her off.

“You will be perfect, not just good. Are you capable of performing well enough that one night is worth his entire life? Remember that I do get to decide how _sincere_ you are.” Bastard.  
  
The future stretched out before her. Harry after Hogwarts, unable to get a job as an Auror, like his father before him. All because of Tom, whispering into Malfoy’s ear, or proving Harry’s incompetence, his _unreliable_ and _emotional_ nature.

Or Harry could have an accident, much like Myrtle.

Hermione saw his threat in perfect form and despaired.

And worse, the shame of her noticing how perfect he looked as he held her friend’s life in his hands. Hermione had never thought a cock could be beautiful, but from the tip to his perineum, he looked silken and lovely. Her thighs wanted to clench to clamp down on her sick desire, but she stayed still in her position of prostration.    
  
“I’ll suck your cock and I’ll-,” she paused, trying to force confidence into her words, “I’ll swallow all your cum, and-” He grunted, his face twisting with an unnamed emotion, and grabbed her hair, hauling her forward. Her knees scraped as she scrambled to catch up, her mouth open in a pant, not nearly ready for him as he promptly wedged himself into her wet mouth.

She gagged and shook, as spit squirted out the sides of her lips and tears flowed anew down her face as he pumped her mouth over him. His magic seized her body once more, pressing into her own with a suffocating and crushing control that made every hair on her body stand on end. All that, and he continued to fuck into her brutally, her insides beginning to feel a burning and unnatural stretch as he butted up against unyielding flesh.

“This is a terrible angle for getting down that pretty throat of yours.” Abruptly she was flipped upside down, his cock never leaving her, as she found herself staring at his lean legs and full scrotum. Hands still in her hair like reigns, the first thrust was deep, and she heaved to vomit him out, foamy mucus already pooling over her nostrils.

“None of that. _Nec iocus.”_ And suddenly her throat opened, accepting the full length of him lodged in what must be her esophagus. He had to have been over twenty centimeters, she mused with with a horrifying clarity.

And the worst part, the very worst, is that as great a pain she could feel in her throat, there was a part of her that liked it.

 _Wanted_ punishment, a challenge, and then to be rewarded for doing well. She hated herself for seeing what he saw; a little girl, desperate for approval from someone with more authority than her.

How upstanding Tom always looked to everyone else, even if it wasn’t true, and she, she was nothing but honesty and righteousness and yet she _couldn’t get the time of day_ from any purebloods. But here Tom was, offering her all of that, and for Harry to be safe from his machinations, for just this- whatever it was.

Before she could get her bearings and begin to feel sorry for herself, he pulled out to let her get a breath in before plunging back into her waiting hole roughly. At the same time his lips met her folds and she became blindingly aware of her own sexuality.

She grabbed his legs to steady herself and he hummed laughter into her quim, tongue already seeking out her clit. It should have been slimy, revolting, but his cool mouth was dexterous, probing her inner labia before pushing his tongue back to mash onto her nub. From playing with herself, she knew it would swell, the skin turning pink, then red, and look fat with blood. Embarrassed, she tried to cinch her legs closed, a pathetic moan squeezing out past his dick.

He smacked the outside of her pussy sharply, the blow reverberating along her needy nerve. As quickly as he had punished, he drove his lips back down on her cunt, the sound of him sucking on her flesh wet, juicy.

It made her feel filthy.

She pulled him deep into her mouth then, creating a suction that yanked the looser skin at the base of his cock tight into her. His answering chuckle vibrated inside her hole that he was currently dipping his tongue in and out of with lazy strokes.  
  
With a soft pop he pulled her off of him and gently pushed her away.

Her body hovered upside down, floating idly. He stayed seated, her wand still in hand, as he began casting a series of spells, never once breaking eye contact with her or opening his mouth to do so. 

“You look beautiful like this.” Hermione coughed, and moved her hand to swipe at the congealed mess lingering around her nose and cheeks, embarrassed.  
  
He snatched her hair and pulled her closer to his face. Up close she could see the barest hint of a five o’clock shadow on his sharp jawline. His eyes weren’t just a dark blue; he had a large limbal ring around his irises that was all too lovely.  
  
He kissed her then. Surprisingly, gently, his lips closing over her slack mouth and his tongue licking the inside of her with obscene determination.

Hermione shuddered at the conflicting intimacy and salaciousness of it.

She felt herself being lowered down, detaching from him, her head the first thing to hit the charmed-soft floor. 

“Stay still, Hermione. _Be good._ ” His teeth were so finely mapped between his lips when he smiled at her, and she let herself be dazzled. 

It was then that the spells he had done before came to fore. He took her wand and drew an invisible line from the top of her mons to between her breasts.

From bottom to top, she erupted with hot, needy pleasure. It was every fumbled thrust of her own fingers into her hole as she sought release, all the times she’d plucked her nipples when she thought of-- of _Tom_ , and the puffy pleasure of her cunt after she’d wrung out a few orgasms. 

She came, _hard,_ a compact squeal erupting from her bruised throat. Gasping, her eyes widened and she looked up at Tom.

Tom, who waited patiently for the throes of orgasm to subside.

“How disobedient you are. I told you to stay still.” Hermione whimpered out that she was _sorry-,_ she’d do better, she would be good, could, anything he wanted if he would simply _do that again, please._ She knew exactly what she looked like saying it: a puddle of bodily fluids and nerves, a disgusting mudblood whore ‘ _good for one thing’,_ just like Malfoy had whispered in her ear last week.

Limbs akimbo, her wand in the hand of the most dangerous boy in school, she faintly thought that she might be just that.

She might be ruined.

And he hadn’t even fucked her properly, yet.

Tom’s wand began to buzz in his pocket, ending the tense silence in the wake of the most mind altering orgasm she’d ever had. He sighed, put upon, and looked down at her with what seemed like sincere regret.

“We’ll work on discipline next week.” His Quidditch gear zipped off the bench and wrapped itself around Tom as he stood. Hermione lay stunned, her disbelief that Tom would just leave as great as her fear of what he had done to her.

Her wand dropped down next to her hand, and Tom stalked towards the door.  
  
“Oh and Hermione? When I see you next for the Slytherin Ravenclaw match, wear something green.”


End file.
